Dear Abby

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Heathen: C+ | Grade It Now!
Dear Abby

"Did you fire six nurses today?" Weaver accuses. "It was the only good part of my day," he affirms. Weaver gets right up in his bearded face. "How'd you like me to fire you?" she hisses. Abby and the kids are listening as they wait for the elevator to return for them. "I've got a handicap, remember?" Romano says sweetly. "Somehow I don't think that would be an issue," Weaver retorts. Abby whispers that they've got an audience, but neither looks at her or acknowledges that she even said anything. I expected this to send Abby over the edge into a scenery-chewing frenzy of stuttering and smoking and pouting and stalking around and the sudden arrival of ten of her closest family members, all of them on bipolar benders. But instead, she just fades away and eavesdrops with enjoyment. "You are one Grade A bitch, you know that, Kerry?" Romano says as she walks away. A little girl's jaw drops at all the profanity. The teacher doesn't even register this; I'm wonering if she knew she was on-camera. She's like, "La la la, I'm getting SAG points, screw the tots." Weaver turns around and, with immense satisfaction, savors saying, "You know, Robert, I'm your boss. And as long as I am, you're my bitch. Now get your ass back to work." Abby unsuccessfully bites back a giggle, and Romano looks at her, and I swear even he can't pretend he didn't appreciate the brilliance of that repartee. He punctuates it the only way one can: "Fecal impaction in Four needs some good old-fashioned finger-digging," he says, throwing Abby the chart. She's so delighted with what just transpired that she doesn't even care that she got tossed a fetid asshole.

Jerry lopes down the stairs with an armload of something, and Abby asks him to escort the kiddies upstairs while she deals with the impaction. He nods. The little girl asks what he's carrying. Cut to a POV shot of Jerry peering over her saying, "This is human blood." Naturally, they all start shrieking at the blood-toting giant, because they didn't see a beanstalk anywhere and weren't prepared for this horror.

Abby stops outside Elle's window, takes a deep breath, and enters. "Hi Elle, feeling any better?" she asks with false cheer. "Yeah, I can finally take a deep breath," Elle rasps. She perceptively asks Abby why a heart doctor came to see her if she has a lung problem, and Abby gives a very tactful explanation that amounts to "The hip bone's connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone's connected to your knee bone, and your heart bone's connected to you're lung bone, and I'm totally stalling because I can't tell you what's up." Elle points out that her parents are acting strangely. "All parents are a little weird, right?" Abby says with a half-smile. "I'm sure they just want you to get better." She excuses herself under the guise of checking to see if Susan's learned anything. But when she leaves, she sighs really loudly for us and shakes her head, so that we're absolutely sure that she disapproves and that if she were a doctor -- I know, we're talking CRAZY here! She LEFT med school! But a force greater than me wants me to continue this thought about "if she were a doctor" -- she'd be doing it differently.

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